Full Throttle (5 page)

He boarded the plane, stored his bag in the overhead compartment, then dropped into the empty seat next to Lexie. She cast him a sidelong glare, fastened her seat belt at the pilot's direction, then stared out the window for takeoff.

What he wanted to talk to her about couldn't really be said in proximity to the rest of the team, so he put in his earphones and launched a heavy-metal song on his iPod. The drums and pounding bass blocked any thought deeper than what he was in the mood to eat for dinner.

A sharp elbow in his ribs jerked him from images of a two-inch sirloin. “What?” he asked, throwing a hostile look at Lexie.

She yanked the cord of his earphones, and when he clicked off the music, she muttered, “Between race engines and all that rackety music, it's a wonder you aren't deaf.”

Since Lexie had zero taste in music—Barry Manilow being her favorite artist—Kane took that as a compliment. “Anytime you want to entertain me with something more stimulating I'm available.”

“Dream on.”

“I was trying to.”

She rolled her eyes. “What did your dad want?”

“The usual—good luck, call your mom if you wreck.”

“He didn't say anything about me?”

“Not really.”

“Not really?”

“He wanted to make sure I was happy with you and the team.”

“And are you?”

“You know I am. You and Harry are the best on the circuit.”

“Maybe.”

“You have two Cup championships.”

She pressed her lips together. “My dad certainly does.”

“You know perfectly well you did more work on Mark Clayton's championship than that idiot who was the car chief.”

“Then why is his name on the trophy?”

“You want a trophy?”

Her eyes lit with frustration. “It sure as hell wouldn't hurt.”

“No, I guess not.” Harry's former car chief got the glory, and Lexie got a pat on the back. Still, there had to be some satisfaction in knowing you were a vital part of a championship, that you'd given a longtime veteran a dream-worthy farewell season.

By contrast, if Kane's career didn't improve, he might be out of a job before
longtime
arrived.

“What did you want to talk to me about earlier?”

“The usual stuff—the car setup, the schedule.”

She shook her head. “You weren't trying to brush off your dad for the usual stuff.”

Kane glanced across the aisle, where Pete and the jack man, Alex, were bent intently over a Game Boy. Their team was still a bit old school, as the two men traveled with him instead of flying in just for the race like the rest of the over-the-wall guys. But then, they both had other jobs—Pete helped James with PR on race weekends and Alex was the chief mechanic.

With those two occupied, Kane shifted his gaze back to Lexie. “How about another kiss?” he whispered.

Her eyes widened, then she darted a look over her shoulder as if checking for eavesdroppers. “You're crazy.”

He trailed his fingers across her jean-clad thigh. “No doubt.”

She brushed his hand aside. “Move back.” Her voice, even in a whisper, was unusually high. “You've lost your mind. Somebody's going to see.”

Didn't he agree exposing their attraction to the team was an extremely bad idea? Hadn't he just told himself he wasn't risking his career?

Yes, but there was nothing wrong with talking.

He angled his body toward her, blocking them to anybody's view. “I wanted to talk to you about Monday night.”

“There's nothing to talk about. Nothing happened.”

“Why did you run away?” He shook his head. “Not your usual fierce self.”

“Can we do this later?”

“No. You'll find a way to avoid me later.” He grinned. “I like that you can't escape.”

Not looking at him, she gripped the armrests. “Why don't you go talk to James?”

Kane turned around in his seat. His best friend sat near the rear of the airplane, reclining and snoozing. “He's asleep,” he told Lexie.

“What about Pete?”

“Video game.” Inhaling, he leaned closer. “You smell fantastic. Kind of tropical. Do you still use that coconut lotion?”

She leaned down, putting her head between her knees.

“Are you sick?” he asked.

“No, I'm looking for my driver. Because you aren't him.”

He patted her back, the warmth of her skin seeping into his palms, burning his fingers. “Sure I am, baby.”

She jerked up.
“Baby?”
Rubbing her temples, her gaze darted around. “Stop it, Kane. You've gone too far.”

“But I got your attention,” he said against her ear. The desire for her, which had been humming through his blood for months, reminded him how good things had once been between them. “So that kiss meant nothing to you?”

Her eyes fluttered closed. Her face flushed.

“Ah, so how often do you think about it?” he asked, happy that he wasn't the only one with this particular problem.

“Once or twice.”

“Liar.”

She kept her gaze riveted on the back of the seat in front of her. “Wherever these feelings have come from, we're going to shove them back in the box.”

“Can you do that, Lexie? Because I'm not sure I can.”

H
EAT FROM
K
ANE
'
S BODY
rolled through Lexie. The temptation he presented was becoming physically painful to resist. Personal relationships for her were few and far between—and certainly none as potent as the one she'd shared with the man beside her. She wondered if any other man would ever measure up.

Maybe not. But she was determined to at least try.

She'd never be first with Kane, and she wanted to be for the next man she handed her heart over to. She
had
to be. And even if dodging Kane was slightly humiliating to her sense of personal strength, she was willing to sacrifice. Her body was weak, and her libido was deprived.

Some
part of her had to handle self-preservation.

“I want to see you later,” he whispered in her ear.

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Just to talk. We need to figure out what we're going to do.”

More
talking? They were just talking now, and she was a wobbly mess.

“Come on, ba—”

“If you call me baby again, I'm going to clobber you with a carburetor.”

“You didn't used to mind.”

“I was seventeen and stupid.”

He leaned back a bit. “There's an insult somewhere in that for me.”

Since he'd given her some space, she could finally turn her head without fear of her face—her lips—touching him. She sent him her best haughty look. “You bet there is.”

“You can't avoid me all night. We have a sponsor party to go to.”

Frowning, she wished she could figure out a way to get out of that. They'd been invited to a cocktail-hour/dinner party held in the sponsor's luxury suite. She'd heard the owner offered lobster and caviar to his invited guests, so the party would no doubt be a major classy affair. “Oh, right.”

“And don't even think about trying to get out of it.”

Thankfully the pilot announced their approach to the airport before she could respond. Everyone who'd been distracted or asleep focused on getting their seat belts on and gear stowed before landing.

In the confusion of getting off the plane and transferred to the hotel—or the motor coach parked at the track in Kane's case—Lexie made sure she was in a separate car from him. And, with him ensconced at the track, she didn't have to deal with him being just a room or two away and popping in to talk about—or worse, pursue—this ill-timed chemistry between them.

She couldn't, however, stifle the urge to fuss with her hair and actually put on makeup instead of just swiping on a single coat of mascara later that night. However, the elegant, pale-green cocktail dress she'd ordered online—after James had declared her usual black pantsuit unacceptable—didn't fit just right. It bagged at the shoulders but was too tight in the waist.

Gazing in the mirror, she decided what seemed elegant on her computer screen looked like a mother-of-the-bride reject in person.

Plus, her makeup was too pale, giving her skin a sallow appearance. Her eyeliner was already smudged under her eyes. The lipstick felt gummy—it was probably old.

The new shoes she'd bought presented even more problems. First, she had to wind the straps around her ankle in some complicated twist that took her five tries to get right—those engineering classes clearly had no purpose in the real world of being a girl—then she had to hold out her arms to get her balance as she stood on the four-inch heels.

Not the kind of woman Kane was used to seeing on his arm, but would her future accounting, engineering or managerial husband be pleased? She hoped so, because she wasn't dressing up for Kane. Nope. No way. She was scouting for a man. A Sonomic Oil man. Even if he did work for a NASCAR-sponsored company, he had to do
something
besides obsess about engines, shocks, tire wear and lap times. He had to be somebody besides the man who'd broken her teenage heart.

When someone knocked on the door, she wobbled down the hall to answer. “I can't walk,” she declared to James as she held on to the door frame to keep from falling over.

“You're beautiful,” he said as he brushed his lips across her cheek. “Every man in the room will volunteer to carry you.”

Feeling awkward, her face grew hot. Why couldn't she have fallen for James all those years ago? He and Kane were both charming and handsome, smart and fun. But, somehow, she and James had connected on a NASCAR fan level, and no chemistry beyond friendship had ever developed.

Her eyes—and her heart—had been all for Kane.

All the more reason to avoid him.

It took some skill and deception during the party, but she managed it—no easy feat in those impractical shoes. Not that she wasn't aware of every move he made, every person he talked to, every big-busted blonde who drooled over him. She'd counted every pinstripe on his navy suit before the cocktail hour was even over.

But tracking him was just habit. Right?

He looks fantastic. You so rarely get to see him dressed up.

She waved aside that opinion. Her only concern with Kane should be getting a fire lit under him, so they could get in the top ten.

She smiled outrageously at every accountant, manager and
normal,
upstanding type offered by Sonomic Oil. But, to be truthful, the pickings were slim. Most wanted to talk about Kane or her father, nobody was impressed with her ill-fitting green dress, others had had too much to drink and the rest had wives or girlfriends.

During dinner, she and Kane were mercifully kept apart. And the one moment when their gazes met, he smiled briefly at her, then turned his attention to the stunning redhead seated next to him.

Good. If he was occupied elsewhere, she could relax.

And that's what you want?

“Oh, shut up.”

“Pardon me?” the chief financial officer of Sonomic Oil asked in a surprised tone.

Flushing at the idea that she'd spoken aloud to her conscience, she tried to put convincing interest in her tone. “I just meant ‘you can't be serious.' You can't possibly have the capability to do a breakdown of the productivity of every employee every minute of the day?”

CFO-guy smiled. “Oh, yes, I do.”

Okay. So maybe engines, shocks, tire wear and lap times weren't such horrible topics after all.

She moved through several circles of discussions, none more interesting or boring than the one before. She spent some moments gazing through the window at the brightly lit track so far below them. Thousands of fans would camp out on the grounds for the weekend. Motor homes and tents dotted every available square inch that wasn't already dedicated to track or grandstands. The infield was packed with team haulers.

She longed to escape to her hotel room, to rest and reflect on the upcoming weekend. Though the schedule was brutal at times, it kept her focused. It reminded her of success, not dreams unfulfilled. The extraneous stuff outside of racing was where she got lost. She didn't understand her place, or the rules, or where she might slide between the two.

“You look like you could use this.”

She looked up at the dark-haired, dark-eyed, attractive man next to her and accepted a glass of champagne. “Oh, ah…thanks.”

“You must be tired of all the schmoozing,” he said, then flashed her a bright smile.

She sipped champagne and wondered when she could legitimately escape. “It's part of my job.”

“I suppose it is these days. NASCAR's growth is phenomenal.”

“Isn't it?” She never knew what to say at these things. In the garage, among the sheet metal, engines and aerodynamic studies she was at home. Her feet felt firmly planted on the ground. Teetering on stilettos at a swanky cocktail party, however, she was completely out of her element.

Was the guy next to her resentful of their growth, was he on the “new NASCAR” bandwagon or was he somewhere in between?

“I had no idea,” her companion added. “I grew up in New York. Now, I'm up to my ears in NASCAR licensing.”

“And you like it?”

“Surprisingly, yes. I was expecting…” He shook his head. “Well, I'm not sure what. But aside from an accent or two, the guys and I are very much alike.”

“And the women?”

He angled his head. “You're in the minority there, at least in the garage. But it certainly seems to be working. Bob Hollister tells me the team is on a roll.”

“Bristol is one of Kane's strongest tracks.”

“So I've heard.” He flashed his smile again. “But I've also heard you're the strength behind the scenes.”

Lexie finally realized this attractive man was flirting with her. Had it really been so long that she had a hard time recognizing such a phenomenon?

Yes, frankly, it has.

“I don't believe I got your name.”

“Victor Sono,” Joel, the team engineer, said as he approached, his hand outstretched. “His father owns Sonomic Oil.”

Lexie vaguely recalled a son who lived up north, and she might have learned more about Victor if Joel's appearance hadn't been followed by Pete, then Alex. Pretty soon, she was surrounded by men. Not so uncommon given her job. Tonight, though, these guys were looking at her. Not at her printouts or calculator or laptop screen, but her.

It was completely weird.

And undoubtedly the result of shock at their realizing she had legs, since her goofy dress couldn't be impressing anybody. She'd always been too much of a tomboy to have most guys take notice of her as a female. That was probably why Kane had knocked her so completely out with his interest.

She had to admit, though, that she was suddenly aware of her body, the swell of her breasts peeking above her dress's neckline, the curve of her waist. Feminine power wasn't a concept she'd ever embraced. She'd relied on her brain. But instead of scoffing at hair tossing and eyelash fluttering, she was actually considering doing such things.

Though doing it in front of her team was troubling. She needed them to move along. Victor Sono was a perfect man to spend time with. Handsome, intelligent, connected to racing, but not consumed by it. She wished they were in the shop, and she could send her guys off on some work-related mission.

Instead, front-tire-changer Pete was—if she wasn't mistaken—checking out her legs.

It was mortifying. Not to mention unprofessional.

When his gaze reached hers, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Can I help you with something?”

“You bet you—” He seemed to suddenly realize who he was ogling. “Oh, ah…no…boss. I'm, ah…good.”

“I'm thrilled to hear it.”

“You look really, ah…good.” His face red, he nudged Alex. “Doesn't she?”

Alex's gaze drifted slowly over her body. “Mmm. Oh, yeah.”

“Is it possible to have this be more flattering and less disturbing?” Lexie asked.

Pete shook his head. “I'm not sure, boss. I really didn't know you had legs.”

“Not legs like that, anyway,” Alex added.

“Personally,” Victor broke in, “I don't know how you guys concentrate on your jobs with a car chief who looks like Lexie.”

“They manage pretty well,” Kane said, toasting the group with his beer bottle. “With me and her father around.”

On a swiftly indrawn breath, Lexie literally took a step back. Kane's intensity overwhelmed her at times. His presence and his ability to command a room reminded her why he was good at not just the driving aspect of his job, but also the star-quality side.

A gift from his father, he'd probably say. A gift all his own, Lexie would counter.

His blue eyes burned briefly in her direction before his gaze swept the assembled group. “Right, guys?”

“Ah, yeah,” Alex said, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere else. “Lexie is—” he glanced at her, then stared at the floor “—the best.”

Everybody seemed to remember another urgent appointment about then. Within seconds, Lexie was left between Kane and Victor. The two men stared across her at each other, and while she'd sometimes had girlish daydreams about being fought over by two men—neither of whom could possibly resist her irresistible charms—the reality of being the center of a male stare-down made her hands sweat.

She sipped her champagne and tried to pretend she wasn't completely out of her element. “So…I assume we all know one another?”

Still glaring at each other, the men nodded. The silence lengthened.

“So, Victor,” she began, “we were discussing the team. I think—”

Kane grabbed her hand and pulled her away.

Lexie dug in her—albeit shaky—heels. “Let go. Are you crazy? We were talking to him.”